


Filth Teaches Filth

by queenofthefallenfics



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Betrayal, Character Study, Double Cross, Explanations, Friends to Enemies, Gen, Keane (The Old Guard) is a dick, Not A Fix-It, answering questions I had about the movie, maybe a bit of a, no beta we die like men, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:47:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26054449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthefallenfics/pseuds/queenofthefallenfics
Summary: “I think I can get you one.”/“No. No, not one. All. . . . Consult with Keane, make a plan, make it happen.”James knew that Booker was more than willing to give himself up, but not the others of his odd family. So, the question remains, how to abduct all four of the most dangerous individuals alive? The easy way: through deception and betrayal.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastian le Livre & James Copley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	Filth Teaches Filth

**Author's Note:**

> title is a quote from the magnificent Anne Carson

James sat down at the table, dropping a pen and blank pad of paper. Keane was sitting across from him, giving him a flat stare. James had worked with pleasant men and unpleasant men alike, yet Keane . . . there was a brutality to him, to his work, that left James with a bad taste in his mouth. There was an obvious delight that emanated from him whenever things got bloody and messy. It worked well for the gun for hire he used to be, but it seemed that Keane was still trying to figure out how to not be an utter psychopath working as Merrick's bodyguard.

“So what’s the plan?” Keane asked, when it was clear that James wasn’t going to start the conversation.

James took a breath and said, not for the first time, “We should only take one of them. We can get whatever we want—”

“Merrick said we need to get  _ all _ of them,” Keane reminded him. “We’re going to get  _ all _ of them.”

James looked at him, eyes flat and hard. “It’s going to be significantly harder to—”

“We can make it happen. Or what? Do you care for those freaks?” Keane sneered.

James glared at him outright.

They weren’t normal, obviously, but they were hardly freaks either. They had spent decades, centuries, millennia, helping people. Fighting a fight no one else could . . . or  _ would _ . Everything they did, they did in the name of good. Whether it was saving people from the ruins of a bomb or fighting in a war or taking out the filth of the Earth, those immortals were good people. And yet . . . this was a world of peace now, a world where fighting wasn’t always done on the battlefield. Most of the time, the hardest fights, the most  _ vital _ fights happened in hospital rooms and back alleys.  _ That’s _ where they were needed, not saving people when thousands of others were just as capable.

And if that meant they had to all be captured . . . then so be it.

“How many men do you have ready?” James asked, ignoring his taunt, his ‘question.’

“Thirty-five,” Keane told him.

James nodded and stood up. “I have to make a call.”

Before Keane could say anything, James left him, walking out of the building and into the street. He got a cup of coffee from the Starbucks across the road and tipped the girl double, charging it to the company card Merrick gave him.

He sat down at one of the tables and looked at the other customers. Most were young, barely children, stacking books and laptops around them in miniature barriers that they talked over, laughing and smiling as if there was nothing wrong in the world. James wondered if any of them were sick, if any of them would become sick and suffer from a cancer or degenerative disease. If any of them would turn in pale mirrors of themselves, twisted and ruined and unrepairable.

Just like Amelia.

James felt his pocket buzz and pulled out the phone, sparing a quick glance at the number. The country code was French and even though James didn’t recognize a single digit, he knew it was Booker.

“Hello,” he greeted, only for Booker to speak over him, quiet and quick.

“Did he see the recording?”

“Yes,” he told him.

“And does think he can get some evidence from that?” Booker’s desperation, his hope, was pouring off of him. James could taste it—hundreds of miles away, as if he was right next to him.

“No,” he said. “We weren’t able to get an uncontaminated sample.”

There was a muttered, cut-off curse in French and the end of the line crackled, like Booker was running his hand through his hair. “What happens now?” he asked, desperation and hope drained out of him, leaving nothing but despair behind.

James had spent more than a decade working with the CIA doing things that most people would balk at, approving things that would give people nightmares. He did it because it was necessary, because they had to be done. Because it was his job, his duty to his country.

And now, this was his job, his duty to his wife.

“Nothing, my friend,” he lied. 

“What?” Booker snapped, his despair turning into fury. He might have said something else, but was muffled by the sound of a plane taking off. “How can that be?”

“I’m sorry, but Merrick doesn’t think it’s a worthwhile investment,” James said, coming up with it on the spot. “He won’t spend his money on something out of a two million dollar snuff film.”

There was just Booker’s harsh breathing on the other end of the line for a moment, then his phone beeped as Booker hung up.

James sighed and put it down, taking another sip of his coffee.

He felt a flash of regret, but knew from the last three, four years of his relationship with the Frenchman that if he told Booker he needed all four immortals, not just him, they would disappear and not show up again until two, three generations later. No, if this was to be successful, then he would have to get the other three, saving Booker for last.

_ I’m sorry, my friend _ , he texted Booker.

A few moments passed before he got a response:  _ The others will be looking for you. Hide. _

James sighed but didn’t bother replying—nothing he said would change what was going to have to happen.

His phone buzzed again, this time with an angry text from Keane that had James rolling his eyes. But he returned to the office where Keane sat, assembling a gun: a cheap attempt as a power move.

“Have you gotten over your identity crisis, Copley?” Keane sneered.

“They’re hiding out in France somewhere,” he said, “some safehouse by an airport. I’ll find the address and have it ready by this afternoon. Once we’re there, we need to focus on the woman, Arab, and Italian. We save the Frechman for last.”

“We can take them all at once,” Keane argued.

“You saw how they slaughtered a dozen fully armed men in less than two minutes. We’re going to have to be quick, careful, and sudden with this. Blow a hole in the side of a wall, gas them, incapacitate the Frenchman and then take the others,” James ordered.

Keane grumbled but James carried on, ignoring Keane as he continued to draw up the plan of attack.

When it was all done, James sat at his desk, a glass of whiskey in hand and a photo of Amelia on the screen. He stared at his wife, immortalized in pixels, and took a sip. Ironically enough, the whiskey had been a gift from Booker himself. It went down smooth and easy, just like the guilt he forced down as he planned to tear after Booker’s family, the same way ALS had torn apart his.

**Author's Note:**

> When I first watched the movie, I was grossed out that they just blew up Booker's stomach and left him there; like, they knew he could heal himself, taking him would have been the better option since it would have hindered any plans of escape that Joe and Nicky might have had if they had to take care of Booker as well. Then when the Big Reveal(tm) happened, I figured that it was done like that to keep Booker guiding himself and Andy to Copley. Then on my second or third re-watch, I wondered 'what if it was done to keep booker incapacitated so that he couldn't intervene with the abduction of the others' and this happened, lol.
> 
> Also, this is definitely the result of me hyperfixating on this movie and me being a #Bookerapologist. So, if you like my writing and my take on this a) leave a comment down below and b) hold on tight, 'cause we got some major Booker-centric work coming up.


End file.
